


Prompt Jukebox Ficlets

by Anonymous



Series: Prompt Fics [2]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Best Friends, Canon Queer Relationship, Christmas Decorations, Curtain Fic, Double Drabble, Drabble Collection, Established Relationship, Fluff, Holidays, Introspection, Light Angst, M/M, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Sweaters, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, games night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:24:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21594904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Ficlets and rabbles from the Rosebudd Prompt Jukebox.Ch. 1: David and Patrick prepare to host games night.Ch. 2: Patrick and David argue over the proper time to decorate for the holidays.Ch. 3: Patrick pulls a muscle.Ch. 4: Stevie wears one of David's sweaters.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose, Stevie Budd & David Rose, Stevie Budd/Jake (Schitt's Creek)
Series: Prompt Fics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1476509
Comments: 54
Kudos: 137
Collections: Anonymous, The Rosebudd Ficlets





	1. Optimal Game Play

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MapleLeafSquareRoot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MapleLeafSquareRoot/gifts), [dameofpowellestate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dameofpowellestate/gifts), [8jodaiko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/8jodaiko/gifts), [unkindravens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unkindravens/gifts).

> Prompts filled for my Rosebuddies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David and Patrick prepare for Games Night

“For optimal game play, you need 6 players—no more, no less.”

“So you, me, Stevie, Alexis, Ted, and Twyla,” Patrick idly counts out the invitees on his hands, and David gets a little bit distracted watching him, remembering just what those thick, strong fingers had done to him the night before. He’s still…uh, _remembering_ when Patrick clears his throat, and David looks up to see him smirking.

“Whatcha thinking, David?” he teases, as he crowds into David’s space and nuzzles the tips of their noses together.

David quirks his lips to the left, chewing the inside of his cheek as he holds back the grin. “Um…well, if you _must _know, I was…uh,” he wiggles his head a bit as he looks up to the ceiling, struggling to come up with a believable answer on the fly, “trying to decide which game to start with tonight?” His voice goes a bit squeaky on the last syllable, and Patrick’s smile grows larger.

“Mmm,” Patrick rocks up onto the balls of his feet, wraps his arms around David’s neck, and leans in close to murmur in his ear. “Why don’t we figure that out together before the guests arrive?”

David lets the smile spread across his face and allows Patrick to take his hand and lead him toward the bed. “If you insist.”


	2. Wait til December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fill for dameofpowellestate: Patrick and David argue over the proper time to decorate for the holidays

“_IN-correct_!” David’s whole body moves to punctuate his declaration, shuddering as his hands flail, head shakes, and his face contorts into the most adorable grimace Patrick could ever imagine.

“And just why is that, David?” Patrick slides his hands around David’s waist, mid-flail, and grins as David’s full-body gesticulation stutters to a confused stop—righteous indignation about holiday decor butting up against the gooey delight of being wrapped in his fiancé’s arms. He gives Patrick a coy little half-smirk and rolls his eyes, letting his own arms come to rest on top of Patrick’s broad shoulders.

“Well—,” David’s voice has gone quiet now, a side effect of being cuddled up in Patrick’s embrace, and Patrick takes advantage of the moment with a gentle kiss. Followed by a not-so gentle kiss, and another and another, until both men are gasping for air, cheeks flushed.

“Well,” David tries to scowl this time, but it doesn’t quite work when his eyes are twinkling and Patrick is looking up at him so fondly, “when I lived in New York I just didn’t like seeing the Christmas _sprawl. _How it just takes over everything for weeks upon weeks,” he shrugs and casts his eyes down. “Especially given my own half-and-half situation, I guess. Maybe I would feel different if I had a deeper attachment to the holiday.” 

“Oh,” Patrick replies softly. The teasing banter comes so easily between them that sometimes he’s still caught off guard by sincerity. “That makes sense.” He nuzzles his nose against David’s, gently nudging him so that he can see those beautiful mahogany eyes.

“We can wait until December,” Patrick murmurs, and leans back in for another kiss.


	3. Patrick pulls a muscle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fill for 8jodaiko

“You’ve got a Grade 2 hip flexor strain, Mr. Brewer. In most cases, this sort of injury begins as a microscopic tear that gradually increases in size with repetitive use of the hip. Now, can youtell me when you experience the pain? What sort of movements trigger it?”

“Oh my god,” Patrick slumps forward in the uncomfortable chair, burying his face in his hands. His whole face is on fire as he remembers exactly what he was doing when he felt it, that sharp explosion that made his whole body tense up.

David runs a soothing hand across his back and drops a soft kiss to the back of his head and whispers, “Do you want me to answer, honey?” He can hear the smirk in David’s voice. He’s enjoying this too much.

“I was, uh…we were—,” Patrick starts, but his tongue suddenly feels about three times too big in his throat. He swallows thickly, and tries again. “We were in bed…” he trails off, wincing as he looks up at the doctor, whose face is utterly neutral. He’s not sure if that makes it better or worse, to be honest. “And, um…I-uh, I…m-my knees were…um, well…my chest—”

“That can do it,” the doctor cuts in, and Patrick is so grateful that he doesn’t have to keep going. He can feel David’s body quaking in silent laughter next to him, the smug bastard, and if he weren’t still running his hand up Patrick’s back like that, all soothing and gentle pressure and reassurance, Patrick would be angry. Probably. But he’s not; he’s comforted, and oddly charmed, even as his cheeks flare with embarrassment. He reluctantly tilts his head up to look at the doctor, who has begun to talk about the treatment plan.

“Over-the-counter pain relievers and RICE for the acute phase. And you’ll need to take it easy for a few weeks—we’ll schedule a follow-up to see how you’re doing. Until then, avoid any activities that exacerbate the strain. No sports, no big weight-bearing exercises like squats, running...no—” he clears his throat, turns his gaze to David, “no overly strenuous sexual activity.” David jerks his head up at that, and Patrick’s gratified to see that he at last looks a little sheepish.

“But non-strenuous is still okay?” David’s voice comes out a little reedy, and that makes Patrick grin.

“Not for a week,” the doctor chuckles at David’s groan. “Then take it easy on your hip, Mr. Brewer. I’ll give you some information for stretches that you’ll want to do beforehand, too.”

Patrick scrubs his hand over his scalp and lets out an quiet huff. “Alright. Is there anything else I need to know?”

“That’s it. If you don’t have any other questions for me, that is,” Dr. Calhoun looks at them both expectantly, and when neither speak, continues on. “I’ll get those stretches set up with your discharge. Be sure to schedule your follow-up when you check out. Have a good day, gentlemen.” He reaches out to shake Patrick’s hand and gives David a nod before he leaves the room.

The door is clicking shut when David explodes. “A whole fucking week?”

Patrick just laughs at David’s despair, and pulls him in for a kiss. “I’m sure we can figure out some loopholes.” 


	4. Warmest Regards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stevie gets introspective picking out one of David's sweaters.

The lock can be tricky. Stevie has started to keep WD-40 in the housekeeping cart just in case, because more often than not, it needs a little something to ease things along when she’s trying to get inside. And today’s one of those days. She grabs the small can and sprays the creaky lock, then slides her key inside. For the thousandth time, at least, she thinks she should probably add “Fix the lock in Room 9” to Roland’s to-do list. But they don’t actually rent this room out anymore, haven’t in years, and calling attention to the lock would just make Johnny want to _do _something with it.

And then David would be fucked. And pissed. And Stevie would probably end up having to store the overflow of David’s wardrobe in her apartment. Because as much shit as she loves to give her best friend, she’d do anything for him. Even if it meant drowning in a sea of black and white knitwear.

Once past the sticky lock, you have to shoulder the door just right, at least once or twice, to get the door fully open. And then, Stevie’s inside. She draws the curtains open, stirring up a fine sheen of dust. It’s been a while since she’s been here, and judging from the dust particles dancing in the sunlight, David hasn’t been here lately, either.

He’s been spending a lot of time with Patrick, and Stevie’s happy for him, really, but it’s bittersweet. She doesn’t begrudge David his happiness, but she misses him. Lately, it seems like all they do is text each other stupid memes and empty promises that they’ll hang out this week _for real, _only it keeps not happening because life keeps getting in the way. And so, instead of hanging out with her best friend, getting wine-drunk and stoned before collapsing together into a giggling heap made of snark and ice cream, she keeps finding herself texting Jake. And yes, he’s pretty as fuck and can make her gush like a firehose, but he’s about as deep as a drained kiddie pool, and there’s really nothing there but a dick and talented tongue.

The stale air in the room smells faintly of the cedar blocks David bought in bulk to stave off moth attacks as Stevie makes her way to the collection of portable wardrobes along the back wall. She unzips the one she reaches first. Inside, there are stacks of hanging organizers filled with sweaters that cost more than Stevie’s car—each—all folded precisely, lovingly, and arranged in a particular order Stevie can’t begin to understand.

She’s not looking for anything in particular today, so she just closes her eyes and reaches, her fingers landing on an almost impossibly soft, fuzzy white sweater with black stripes. When she pulls it out, gingerly, careful not to snag it with her rough cuticles, or to let the material hang over her hands in a way that could stretch out the fabric. She brings the folded sweater up to her face and breathes it in, inhaling the faint scent of David underneath the cedar.

Holding the sweater close to her chest like a thing too precious to let go, Stevie zips the wardrobe back up. She fumbles her way out of her oversize flannel shirt and lets it fall to the floor around her feet, and then carefully pulls the sweater over her head.

It feels even softer on, and she can’t help but hug her arms against her chest, running her palms up and down the sleeves.

Her phone buzzes in her back pocket.

David  
  
**DAVID [5:16 PM]**Mr. Hockley had to switch his pick-up time to tonight at 7 so I have to bail.  
**ME [5:18 PM]**Shit. Raincheck?  
**DAVID [5:21 AM]**Tomorrow night?  
**ME [5:23 PM]**👍 u owe me another bottle of red  
**DAVID [5:24 PM]**deal. Warmest wishes to that.   
**ME [5:25 PM]**kindest regards  


Stevie really is happy for David. He’s been through so much shit in his life; he deserves to be happy. She blinks, and keeps blinking until her eyes aren’t stinging. 

Fuckboi (Jake)  
  
**ME [5:27 PM]**my place in an hour?  
**FUCKBOI (Jake) [5:36 PM]**u got it pony  



End file.
